


Remembrance

by orphan_account



Series: House Telcontar Moments [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Mention of major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8642803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Aragorn copes with his grief.





	

Darkness was falling, everyone in the bar had left save the man sitting in the corner. That man had been sitting in the same place, nursing the same mug of ale the entire day. He was tall, but wearing a hooded cloak which made it hard to discern anything about him. The barkeep was a middle aged man, who had no family of his own. He had opened his bar, ‘The North Wind’, in an attempt to give people a gathering place, a place to drink their sorrows away, and more than that, a home away from home. So, he did not mind in the least that the man in the corner was staying so long.

Eventually, he tired of wiping the counter again and again. So, he walked over to the man and extended his hand. “My name’s Markus Stryker.”

He man shook the extended hand before replying, “Estel Elrondion.” His hood slipped am came to rest around his shoulders, but Estel made no move to replace it over his head. Instead, he took a small sip of the ale. Markus noted that his mug was slightly more than half full.

"You seem like a man burdened with sorrow, Estel.” The barkeep tucked his hands under the table, folded nervously in his lap. He had just noticed the glint of light on the sword that the man wore. “I'm willing to listen, if you're willing to talk.”

But Estel made no move to talk about his life, instead saying, “My life is not a good topic of conversation. Instead, let us speak about your opinion on a wide range of topics. For instance, what do you think of you current King?”

Markus listened to the man speak, hearing how his voice sounded richer than a normal man’s, and how his patterns of speech seemed to be soft and lilting. This coupled with the man’s strange name brought a strange fact to the barkeep’s attention, this man might actually be an elf. “King Aragorn, I can't really say much, I've never met the man. But he seems good and kind. And I've heard he is a great military commander. What do you think of him?”

"I do not know, I have not been in your land long, I come from Rivendell, home of Lord Elrond.” Estel noticed something outside the grimy window and quickly finished his ale in a single gulp. He stood, hand already on the hilt of his sword and began to walk to the door.

But Markus laid a hand on his arm to stop him. “You can't just go barging into the street with a sword and expect not to be picked up by the city guards, even if you are an elf. Wait here for the commotion to die down, and then we can go and figure out what happened.” He led Estel back to the table that they had been sitting at before. “What is Rivendell like? I've always wanted to visit, but I don't know where it is.”

A glance at the fight outside before Estel turned back to face Markus. “Rivendell is a city of elves. It lies next to a great river which you call the Loudwater. The buildings are white, and they curve around the trees. The rooms are misshapen because of this, so two rooms are ever the same. The rooms are open too, with walls that are only chest high so that you can look out on the beauty beyond. Each wall is twined carefully, so it appears to be a mat of vines instead of a solid block. The rooms are connected by a series of hallways, open as well. And everything is off the ground, on stilts as to not crush the plants or disrupt the animals below.” He went on to describing the horses, and then the meals. Markus was beginning to slowly fall asleep, when the door flew open.

Markus shot to his feet and stood before the newcomer, expecting to be given a drink request, never mind how late it was. But when he looked at the person who had entered, he froze. It was a woman, but clearly an elf. Her hair was braided down her back and her telltale ears were showing. The only slightly strange detail was that she was dressed in leather armor, with a quiver of arrows and a bow slung across her back. “Aragorn..” She said, her voice soft but urgent. “The city is under attack. We must go.”

Aragorn nodded and left with her, drawing his sword. Before he left though, he dropped several coins onto the bar top. “For your time, and most excellent ale.” He told the stunned man that was still frozen in place, Markus having just realized that he had served his King. And talked to him as well.

As Aragorn and Arwen fought off the attacking orcs, Arwen said, “You seem to be in taverns more often than not, would you care to explain?”

Aragorn grunted as he blocked a blow with a mace to his head. “I am trying to forget.” He answered. “It was my fault that Frodo died. If I had gotten there sooner, he would be alive. He should not be lying in the ground. I should have killed Saruman before he had a chance to stab Frodo.”

“You were not with Frodo when he returned to the Shire. You were ruling Gondor, and you had already been released from your oath to protect him.” Arwen answered, her hands a blur as she nocked, drew and shot arrows with practiced movements.

“But I am still to blame. I spoke with Saruman. I had a chance to kill him, and yet I gave him a second chance. He was atop his tower, laughing down at us. I could have shot him, it would have been so easy. But I let him live, and so it is my fault.” Aragorn insisted.

Arwen was silent, waiting for the battle to be over, before walking over to him. She raised a hand to his face, making him look at her. “Aragorn, you are not to blame. You do not have to take the strain of every wrong in this world. You were born, and great burdens were thrust upon you by my father, but you overcame them. Do not blame yourself for Frodo’s death, instead, celebrate the life he had.”

“You give wise council my lady.” Aragorn replied, grinning, then he turned serious again. “Thank you. You always help me, always get me out of my grief or anger and I do not know if I have ever thanked you before. So thank you.”

Smiles came to both of their faces before they walked back to the castle. Then Aragorn slept, untroubled by the dreams that had plagued him since the messenger came with the horrible news.

 

Several weeks later, a feast was thrown. The Great Hall was filled, people and laughter flooding the room. Seated around the high table, Aragorn, Arwen, Merry, Pippin and Sam did not speak. But the silence was not strange, nor filled with any tension, instead, they it was just companionable silence.

But then Pippin raised his mug of ale. “Hail Frodo.” He said, only heard y those around him in the bustle of the hall.

His mug was met by the others’ as they replied, “Hail Frodo.”

Then, Aragorn stood and raised his glass, the Great Hall falling silent at once. “Hail Frodo of the Shire!” He shouted, to be heard in the large room.

Silence followed this for a moment, before everyone raised their glasses too. “Hail Frodo!” The resounding echo lingered throughout the room and no one spoke until after it had faded, before lapsing into chatter once more.


End file.
